


No Sign of Weakness

by Oshun



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Almost Crack fic, Cousins, F/M, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: Sparring Finwean cousins; Aredhel and Celegorm like one another, but they really love to argue.SWG May-June Challenge Entry - "Competition."





	No Sign of Weakness

They weren’t spying on them. The truth was that Irissë and Tyelkormo had settled themselves on the crest of the hillock under the old Oak before Nelyafinwë and Findekáno had appeared on the path alongside the lake and sat on one of the benches facing the water. They leaned their heads close to one another, apparently intent on their conversation. But there was a tangible air of intimacy in their postures. Although they kept their eyes upon the lake and not on one another, they constantly exchanged minute signs of physical intimacy. Their shoulders and their thighs touched one another. Findekáno reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Nelyafinwë’s ear when a slight breeze blew it across his face. At one point, Nelyo stretched his arm across the back of the bench and Findekáno shifted so that his shoulders touched his arm.

“They think they are subtle,” Tyelkormo said. “Just two cousins out for a walk. Really they are completely transparent.”

 “Ah, lovebirds. I think they are kind of sweet. Do you ever feel insecure or envious watching your brother?” Irissë asked.               

“Which one?” Tyelkormo snorted and shook his raggedy golden mane hanging just below his shoulders. They had trimmed it a week ago when he had decided it was too thick, too long, and always in his way. “Whack it all off,” he had said. Irissë had used her mother’s best scissors intended for cutting fine cloth, but the result appeared more like she’d attacked his gorgeous hair with the crudest of gardening shears. It looked outrageous! She loved it, thinking it enhanced the rakish, disreputable air that she found so attractive in her very own Fëanorian bad boy.

“Obviously, I meant the one who can do no wrong, who is never allowed any sign of weakness. The tall redhead that everyone always admires. The better half of the lovebirds.”

“Huh!” Another of his characteristic dismissive grunts made her laugh. But when he spoke his voice dropped and his eyes softened. “That’s his role. To always be the best, the most reliable, the smartest, the perfect eldest son, to always make our father and grandfather proud. He is expected to be a scholar and an athlete, good at science and craft, generous and courteous, wise and gentle, proud but never arrogant! Fortunately, he was born with the minimum requirements of being brilliant, tall, with a great body, and good hair. He’s supposed to be everything my father and our grandfather are and all the things they should be and are not! I’d much rather be me!” He released a barking laugh. “Whoa! Anyway, who’d want to compete with that? Not me!”

“Ha! Apparently, you’ve thought about this rather a lot!” Tyelkormo rarely used so many words at one time and infrequently with such certainty.

“Actually. Not that much. Although, all of us—my brothers I mean—think that they ask far too much of Nelyo and he is too good to ever say ‘no!’ So why did you ask? Do you envy your brother? You are the most competitive person I know.”

"Get serious, Tyelco! You and your brothers are always jockeying for a better position from which to gain your old man's approval."

"That's not true!"

"It's so true! It's a truism, a known fact!"

"You always think you know everything. Overcompensating for being a girl."

"Ugh! You're disgusting."

"And you are competitive."


End file.
